


Sightseeing

by Oparu (USSJellyfish)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, LMD 2.0 Phil Coulson, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSJellyfish/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: No longer quite an agent, Phil Coulson went off to see the world. Professor Melinda May knows the kinds of places he likes. The rest isn't quite parasailing, but it's certainly classified.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 23
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> post-finale fix it sex, many thanks to whisky.

It's his kind of place. Homey, old, with a scuffed, well worn floor and walls covered in history. Melinda isn't sure if seafood is something this version of Phil enjoys, but he's always been excited by good food and the scallops are divine here. Luckily the seagood is different enough from Tahiti to not dredge up her own longings. She won't be able to sit on a tropical beach without her chest aching but the stones and the Loch are pleasantly different. 

If he doesn't show, she'll get plenty of work done. Her stack of provisional field reports is much smaller than it was when she arrived on the ferry two days ago. She walks along the water in the morning, and does her tai chi between the trees and the shore. The locals are polite, and accustomed enough to tourists that they're neither curious or too chatty. 

The Old Forge pub's lively tonight with a sizeable group at the bar and a group playing something that's not pool. Phil would know what it is, and the rules, though he'd lose his shirt before he'd admit he wasn't that good at it. M aybe now he is. Maybe part of the upgrades are a passing skill with games. She hasn't got to play poker with him yet, but maybe now he finally has game. 

That thought makes her smile, and she sets down her pen. She should correct the papers on her laptop, but it feels owrong to sit in a place with history and type. The pen is Phil's, one of his exquisite collection of fountain pens and every once in awhile she gets ink all over her fingers. It feels like part of the job, so she lets it happen. The stains remind her of him. 

Everything does. Phil's in the scent of whisky, men unbuttoning their suit coats before they sit down, blue ties, red ties, and the feel of leather. She hasn't stayed in a hotel without him, not in years, and the little cottage she's rented is designed to be shared, but it's easy enough to ignore the other bathrobe and the other towel. He'll be here.

Or he won't.

She's rarely wrong about him: what he likes, the kinds of places he finds interesting. He'd have a hard time resisting the most remote pub in the UK and he'd sit in the corner table and read his book. 

Melinda finishes her soup and sets the bowl aside. She's drunk half of her beer, and when it's gone she will allow herself one shot of whisky before she retreats to her cottage and the hot tub hidden in the trees. 

She's deep in her work, nearing the end of her pint when he walks in. It's him by the sound of his feet, even in hiking boots instead of derby shoes. Her reading glasses slip and she forces them up the bridge of her nose. Working without them ends in headaches and that's not how she wants tonight to end. 

Not that they--

Of course not. 

Phil orders a drink and searches the pub, his eyes fall on her and she doesn't look up. She can't, she's not ready to look at him, not if--

"Is this seat taken?"

"All yours."

He sits, setting down his pint next to hers. "These are new."

"Getting old."

"Not you," he teases. "Melinda May is an ageless goddess."

"Professor May gets fairly nasty headaches if she reads papers all day without them."

He smiles. "Are you sure that it's not the papers?"

Chuckling, she sets down her pen. His pen. Another him, another lifetime ago. Removing her glasses, she sets them down. "They're not that bad. Apparently it's too much time in a cockpit."

"They suit you." 

"Thanks."

"This suits you." He lifts his glass, taking a sip as he looks over her sweater. "You seem relaxed."

"Nowhere to be."

He takes a longer drink, rolling the ale over his tongue before he swallows. What different parts of it can he taste now? Does his tongue disect the molecules or does he taste it like she does? "How did you know I'd come here?" 

"The most remote pub in Scotland is definitely your thing." 

"I wanted to go to Ireland." The server sets his plate in front of him. Fish and chips. Of course.

She reaches across, stealing a chip. "You wouldn't go without me." 

He raises his eyebrows in mock indigence at her theft. "You already ate."

"You never finish your chips." 

"Because you do." Phil reaches for the vinegar and his fingers brush her wrist. Her heart thuds, too loud and too needy. 

"I missed you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"No, let me apologize." He holds up a chip as a peace offering. "I wasn't ready."

"You don't have to be."

"I am."

She eats the chip, trying to concentrate on the salt and crispy potato. Pay attention to her body, find the horizon, find her center. She can't slow her heartbeat, but she can ignore it. Pretend she can't taste the need in her chest.

"Ready for?"

"Whatever comes next." He smiles, really smiles, and they could be back at the Academy, studying in the cafeteria, decades ago. "You came all this way."

"It's spring break, I had the time."

"What if I didn't come?"

"You did."

"I did."

He finishes his pint and she tucks her papers into her briefcase. 

"What are we drinking? Islay or Speyside?"

"Not that peated one." 

Phil laughs, shaking his head. "I like that."

"I do too, but not tonight." 

"All right, something sweeter." He stands, heading back to the bar. "Don't eat all my chips."

"I'll leave one." 

She leaves three, just to be kind. 

Phil returns with whiskies, doubles, and slides hers across. Can he get drunk? Is it all about the taste, the ritual? 

"What are we drinking too?"

"A wild spring break?"

She raises an eyebrow. 

"Had to try." Those crinkles around his eyes are perfect, and him. So is the way she's not sure if his eyes are blue, hazel or brown. Must be the lighting.  


"Thank you."

"I left you three, you should be grateful."

He eats one of the chips and chuckles. "That you found me?"

"Well, you weren't visiting."

"I--" 

"It's all right."

"It's not. I should have visited, you asked and I- I left you."

"You do that a lot." She didn't mean to say it, it's too harsh, but he nods all the same. 

"Sorry about that."

"Maybe this you sticks around."

"Would be nice."

"Yeah?"

"I'm enjoying it. Seeing the world, sitting in pubs., reading, watching...never had time for most of it. Couldn't take a day and read a book and now I can just flip through them." 

"Must be nice."

"Just say the word and I'll help you with your essays." He reaches out, hand open on the table.

"They're not bad."

"Solidly mediocre?"

"There's promise. Some will be good agents in a few years."

"Some dreadful ones." 

"Always a few."

They lift their glasses, eyes locked. "What are we drinking to?" 

"Seeing the world?"

"Having our feet the ground for once."

"Well, Lola is out back." He clinks his glass against hers. "To seeing it slowly." 

"To taking time."

Phil grins at that, his eyes softening as the little lines around them deepen. "That's not something we do."

"Maybe we start." 

His eyes won't leave her lips. The whisky starts sweet, then warms her throat. The last time he kissed her, he was dying, now death is a thousand years away. 

Phil sets his glass down on the table. "I'm not sure I know how."

"All that time wandering the world, reassessing, and you didn't figure out how to take your time?" Her cheeks flush, and it's not the whisky. His gaze has always been able to do that to her. 

"Never been good at it."

"Maybe it's time to learn some new skills."

He waves over the bartender and she refills their glasses without a word. Amber whisky glows in the weak light of the sunset through the window. 

"You think it's possible to teach new tech new tricks?"

"Isn't that one of the benefits of all your circuits?"

"Perhaps." He drinks without a toast, almost as if he has to fortify himself for what's to come. "I'm sorry, Melinda."

"For what?"

"So many things."

"Dying?"

"Not staying dead."

Shaking her head, she finishes her own whisky, barely tasting it this time. "The world's better with you in it, you know that."

"Even for you?"

"Of course it is, you're my best friend."

"I've been more than that."

She traces the rim of the glass with her finger. "You could be again."

"Is that what you want?"

Want isn't even the right word. Want is too simple. 

"I love you."

"Loved," he corrects her. "He's gone." 

"No, Phil, I love you. This you, the last you, the nerdy you before who used to stop by my cubicle on your coffee break just to make me laugh." 

"It's not--"

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand, making sure to have all his attention. "It is that easy."

He gulps and stares, dumbfounded. It's pretty cute when he gets like this. "Okay."

"Do you want to wait five minutes and follow me to the cottage or come now?"

Phil smirks. "Is someone following us?"

"Would it matter?"

"Could be fun."

Laughing, she picks up her briefcase, tucking her glasses away. "Maybe for you."

"Fighting off the bad guys isn't foreplay anymore?" He grabs her jacket, opening it up so she can step in. 

Melinda reaches up to fix her hair, but he does, gently letting it fall onto her shoulders. "It's not as fun as it used to be." 

"So you need a new hobby?"

"The vacation might be enough."

"It's not a vacation if you're working." He rests his hand on her back as they leave the pub for the tiny street that goes nowhere.

"I needed to pass the time until you got here."

"So I'm late?"

"Aren't you always?" 

His fake wounded face hasn't changed in decades. "Hey."

"I don't mind waiting."

"Maybe you should." He touches her chin, stopping them in the street. No one's coming, there's nowhere to go. 

"What are you going to do about that?" 

Phil glances down the street, then at his feet. "I guess I'll find some guys to shoot at us, seemed to help last time."

"So romantic." She stands on her tiptoes, reaching up for his shoulder. He leans down, just a little, and they're close. Melinda tilts her head, tugs, and he laughs before they kiss. Her lips tingle from the drink and he tastes like whisky. At first he's tentative, gentle, so she deepens the kiss, opening her mouth, teasing- offering- and he takes.

His fingers slip into her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue tastes her. Does he remember kissing on the beach? Can he know what those weeks were like? Does he only remember the kiss behind the shield?

Does it matter? He's here. They're here. They have now; they've never been good at seizing their moments. Maybe that's something they can reassess together.  


  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He kisses her neck, pressing her up against the wall of the cabin beside the door while she's trying to remember what pocket her keys are in. His hand slips inside her leather jacket, running up her stomach and she probably can't say her name right now, much less which pocket. He tugs up her sweater, teasing and then she remembers. They're in the middle of fucking nowhere. It's not locked. She reaches back, opening the door. 

Laughing, he pulls back from her neck. "Director of SHIELD Academy, huh?"

"Shut up."

Phil brushes his thumb across her lips, grinning. "Make me."

She can think of several far better uses for his mouth and she doesn't even have to feel bad about his back. He doesn't get sore anymore, does he? They were a little wild in Tahiti, a few times, she could never really let go because she was so close to losing him and towards the end his heart just wasn't--

She shuts her eyes, takes a breath, and lets him slide her jacket off of her shoulders. Melinda tugs his jacket down his shoulders and shuts the door with her foot. Now she locks it because she's going to let anyone or anything ruin this. They're not leaving this room until morning: aliens, Avengers, mercenaries, and governments can all go to hell. Phil kisses her hard against the door, lifting her a little off the floor. 

She wraps a leg around his, tugging him closer, tighter. Desire licks at her senses, demanding, begging. She still can't feel him. Maybe that's good, knowing how much he wants her might make it harder to have any kind of control. Melinda relaxes a little, reaches out with her wanting, letting it slip into him the same way her tongue slides into his mouth. 

He stops, hand on her breast, mouth on hers and holds her against the wall. "Melinda?"

"Just checking." 

"Guess that didn't go away." He shuts his eyes, and she offers more. Particularly the aching, desperate want pooling hot between her legs. "Fuck."

"That's the idea."

"May--" Her sweater's up over her head, then off. He smirks at her camisole, then slips that off as well. Pausing over her bra, he pretends to fumble with the back, for old time's sake, then drops it to the floor like an empty clip from a smoking gun. His thumb runs over her nipple, teasing, taunting before he follows it with his mouth. He was enamoured with her breasts in Tahiti, toying with them for hours in the starlight. They'd both been so gentle, wrapped up in each other for the time they had, grieving while they began something they should have started decades ago. 

He inhales, then blinks. Dammit, she didn't intend to send that, that grief's still too raw. 

"Sorry."

"No, don't be," he pauses, then unbuttons his shirt. There's no scar on his chest, no marks, no weaknesses. "I'm not going to leave you."

She shoves him back towards the bed, kissing as she forces him down. With him beneath her, she runs her hands over his chest, resting them on his heart. Was that why he stayed away? Why he didn't visit? Why did she had to track him down in a village with no roads? He shifts his hips beneath her, reminding her how much she loves him in jeans. 

Phil pulls her down, rolling over, pressing her chest against his. Her heart thuds in her ears and she doesn't have to worry that his heart is still beating. She doesn't have to hold that fear in the back of her mind, he'll out live her for once. 

Her eyes sting and again they pause, staring at each other. 

"Are you sharing this on purpose?" Phil asks, stroking her cheek. His eyes are as damp as hers and though her body wants, her chest aches and her eyes are traitors on their own. 

"No, no, I just--" If he'd just fuck her they could skip this part, but that's not them. There's no version of them where this is easy, where she can put her feelings away into neat boxes. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't." He holds her hips, fingers toying with her skin. "I don't know what happened in Tahiti, I've heard stories, Jemma and Daisy tried to fill me in. I've read your report, but I wasn't there. I haven't been through that, I haven't seen what it did to you and I'm so sorry."

"We were happy."

"I know." He sits up, cradling her against his chest. Phil reaches for her trousers, undoing the button, then the clasp and guiding them off her hips. He flips them, pressing her against the bed while they take off his jeans together. "I don't want to intrude."

"That's not how it is." 

He nuzzles her chest, his mouth deliciously close to her nipple. "Then tell me."

Again. "You're you, and I buried you a couple times, and I love you and I would very much like you to fuck me."

"Eloquent.'

"I do my best."

He closes his mouth around her nipple and sucks, warm and teasing. How does she put words what they had? The words in her head are too much.  _ I dream about you. I wake up remembering your head between my thighs. I felt your heart stop. I cried myself hoarse over your body. I lived and you didn't and then your face killed me too. _

He kisses his way across her chest, brushing the other nipple with his nose before he tastes it. "Why is that so easy for you to say?"

She raises up on her elbows, smirking. "Fuck me?"

"You love me."

"It's true."

"But I wasn't there. I know we went to Tahiti, and we were together, but I know that because Jemma put it into my head."

"You don't love me?" She asks it lightly, playfully, and he's nearly naked between her thighs, so she can kill him if he lies. 

"May."

"You haven't said it."

"I must have."

"You did, eventually."

"Eventually?"

She squirms, rolling her hips against his enough that his cheeks start to go pink. "You take your time."

"Is that a hint?"

"We have all night." She chuckles, guiding his hands to her hips. "I don't know why it's so hard for you to say."

He kisses her neck, then her collarbone on his way back to her breasts. Together they slip off her panties, tossing them aside as he sits up enough to peel his boxer briefs off of his very erect penis. They can take their time later, now they've wasted so much of it already. She reaches down, stroking him lightly enough to be maddening. 

He gasps, laughing into her breasts. "You're still very intimidating."

"That's it?"

"Isn't that enough?" His teeth brush her breast. 

She sighs, rocking her hips against his thigh. "Even naked?"

"Much more intimidating naked." Phil kisses his way down, licking, exploring. Just like he did, a lifetime ago, when the air was warm and smelt of flowers. He strokes down her inner thigh, tracing, taunting. "I don't feel worthy." 

He kisses her hip, then nuzzles inward. 

"You don't have to earn it." 

"I haven't."

His hands part her thighs, making space for him to taste her. It's the same look, that gentleness, that awe-- 

She leans back, shutting her eyes. Melinda aches, wet and tight and hot. He won't get it any other way. So she opens her mind, her heart and lets it rush over him. He falters, gasping against her thigh. Even as tech, he can feel it, she knows he must.

He licks, starting low, his tongue soft against her. She opens her eyes, panting, fisting her hands into the bedsheets. 

Sending love was easy, and maybe she's made him too gentle. Melinda lets her impatience seep out, running over him like static.

"Okay, okay." He squeezes her hips with his fingers, then his fingers slip inside, curling deep. He presses against her g-spot and sparks erupt in her vision. "You're cheating." His thumb runs over her clit, making her gasp. That intrigues him, sets off his competitive side. She whimpers, arches her back a little and then his mouth finds her clit and he's perfect, warm, teasing, and rough. He plays his fingers with his mouth, finding a rhythm with her hips and he could stop, he could leave her moaning, but he's a completionist.

Perfectionist. 

He works her with fingers and tongue until heat explodes behind her eyes, cascades down her body. She shivers, fingers wrapped in his hair. It stings how familiar it is. She's been here before, beneath him, wrapped up in him, panting and smiling and enamoured. Yet, it's new for him. That smile was Phil's smile the first time he brought her to orgasm, and it's his again. 

His erection presses against her thigh and she can almost feel his need. She can't, of course, yet desire swells within her. She reaches down, caresses him, then guides him in. Her teeth still tingle and her body's still on the edge of orgasm, yet this is right. They need to touch, to connect, to join--

He starts to roll them over, moving her on top and she grabs his chin. 

"It's all right."

He nods, eyes meeting hers. Phil kisses her, and he tastes of her. She pulls him deep into her mouth, inside, and his eyes darken. 

"Melinda."

"With me." Her hand cups his cheek, his eyes meet hers. He thrusts and she tilts her hips, taking him in, meeting him. 

He shudders, balances on his elbows. He radiates desire, joy, something--]

Phil returns his mouth to her breast and she laughs. 

"Don't get distracted now." 

"Never."

Rocking her hips back takes him deeper in, tighter and he thrusts, eyes wide and dark. Faster. She tightens around her, squeezes, runs her fingers up his neck. He starts to kiss her neck and she pulls his face back. He needs to look at her, needs to see. Maybe it'll help him believe. He starts to tremble, panting, moaning her name. Pleasure builds, cresting, climbing, and she touches him, sharing her contentment, her affection.

Love sends him over. He crashes, falling, joining them with sweat and heat. She wasn't sure if he was that advanced, but he feels like him as he softens within her. 

"Was that?"

"Not intentional."

"Just carried away in the moment?" 

"It was a nice moment." She kisses him slowly, lingering. Slipping off the bed she ducks into the bathroom and returns, grabbing a bottle of water. She takes a drink, then passes it over. Their fingers touch and he holds her hand, then kisses her wrist. 

"You're incredible."

"We're just getting started." 

"Oh?"

"I hear your endurance is fairly advanced."

"I haven't really tested this part of it."

"Then we'll need to do some work." She takes a long drink of water, then sets the bottle aside. "Seems like you need a thorough evaluation of your abilities."

"And you're up to the challenge?" 

Melinda shoves him to the bed, mounting him and grinning. "I'm the Cavalry, if anyone can handle you, it's me." 

Phil chuckles, raising his hands. She winds their fingers together, rocking him hips over him as he starts to stiffen beneath her. 

"I love you."

"See, that wasn't so bad."

"Are you sure the world didn't end?"

She glances at the window, smiling at the pine trees. "It's all falling apart out there." 

"Yeah?"

"Definitely, we should stay here." She slides off of him, kneeling on the bed as she kisses her way down his stomach. He had a turn, so it's only fair. 

  
  



End file.
